


Poems to Speak Salacity

by eoKingdomDom



Category: Original Work
Genre: Any kinks or warnings are mentioned in the summary for each individual poem, Bondage, Chastity, Erotic Poetry, Exhibitionism, Forniphilia, Gore, Human Furniture, Implied Sexual Content, Master/Pet, Multi, Not all poems contain the stuff in the tags, Paint Kink, Poetry, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rope Bondage, Sexual Frustration, Various Kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eoKingdomDom/pseuds/eoKingdomDom
Summary: Condensed my poem series into one work for ease. If you don't know what that is, then it's exactly what it says on the tin. These are, in some way or another, sexual poems. Most of which were largely written on public transport with someone probably sitting there beside me looking VERY concerned. (Might be continued)
Kudos: 3





	1. Darling

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, I don't mind doing poetic requests, if you have a specific thing in mind...  
> I'm complete-spanner on tumblr if you wanna send a request, or dive-bomb into the comments if you're truly shameless. I have limits of what I'll write, of course, but I'd decide after receiving the request.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the trainwreck!

Call me from the spectre’s frame  
And tell me my name.  
Under the glimpse of a trailing hall,  
A soft light.  
A sweet sight.  
Drops somewhere between flight and fall.  
Into my arms,  
Darling.

Opening carved, great glorious echo  
Taunting the soul it holds.  
I need to go,  
Dash through the thicket’s folds.  
Landing a hand in yours,  
A tempting stroke that detours  
Your mind from work,  
Darling.

Encapsulate the twig between talons,  
Losing sense of worth in the gallons.  
I love the feeling, collapsing in heat,  
Sway my frame to the dying beat.  
My spectre’s frame,  
Lacking a name.  
Teeth around the throat,  
Darling.

Purr into a splendor,  
Flesh is a blender,  
Listen to the sound it makes.  
Wet tunnel of prodding touches within,  
Feel the delectable form it takes  
As it releases your mind to spin.  
Twirl before me  
Darling.

Be a good girl  
And your obedience will prevail.  
I can let my skin uncurl  
And perform an age-old tale.  
Tracing over warm gold,  
Make me the soul you want to hold  
Because you are my  
Darling.


	2. I am Your Pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thing I wrote ages ago that wasn't even supposed to be sexual, but it ended up having real Master/Pet vibes so yeah...

I am your pet, I can   
Keep you safe and warm.  
I will  
Scare away the bad things in your  
Life.  
I am your pet,  
I can do tricks for treats.  
Watch me spin in  
Circles.  
I can make you too  
Dizzy to see  
At all.  
I am your pet,  
Come and play with me


	3. The Bite from the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most fucking high-effort thing I've ever wrote tbh. Features exhibitionism and dirty talk.

Laden the maiden to  
Brush her back against the tree,  
Dropping to the prickling grass  
Where she waits just for me.

A pencil and notebook flicked  
Open in the sun.  
Fine lines nip the paper and  
Her mind is on the run.

Carve me something pretty,  
Draw me something witty.  
Let the grass twitch over bare legs  
As a wild nervous whisper.

An opportunity is before her if  
She can play along,  
Yet there’s a shiver in her figure  
And I can’t say she will last long. 

Pale skin gleams in the light,  
Exposed, it aches a dare.  
Squirms at the nibble from the meadow and  
The bite from the air. 

Across the bristles of green  
To her, I stare.  
Her legs shift together to catch her  
Discomfort in a snare.

My mind begins to ponder.  
How long have I made her wait?  
Perhaps days? No, weeks?  
Letting her throb in a craving state.

Some birds squall and dart into   
An opening of the sky.  
She looks to them, with her pencil  
Stroking the page.

Throat bared to the glare of the sun  
As her eyes lock on the blue.  
Desire tells me I should touch it and  
Capture the lips she’s panting through.

So I prod steps into the filth to watch  
Her look at me and smile.  
Branches above her sway so  
Out of fashion, out of style.

She buries her concentration into  
Sketches of the little flittering birds.  
Then her head hides behind the paper,  
When I speak to her in words.

_The tree must be rough on you,_   
_Does it hurt?_   
_Fragrance is in the air and nature_   
_On display._

_How wonderful you look with your_   
_Legs twisted like that._   
_Surely that can’t be comfortable and_   
_Surely you’d like release._

_Besides, we are all animals to our desires._   
_Every creature seeks the splendid_   
_However sordid._   
_Any means. Any means._

_You know I could touch your skin._   
_There’s treasures laced in its wake._   
_Soft thrills and pressure spills all_   
_Designed to feel like kindling, notions_

_Where every thicket and every snare_   
_Need not bare._   
_Does it hurt?_   
_No. No not at all._

_You don’t need to protect yourself_   
_From the raw soothe of whine-worthy_   
_Play._   
_It feels much better, and better still_

_As hands run the electrostatic field of_   
_Skin. The minefield of curious and it_   
_Wants to know._   
_Wants to feel my touch._

_You know it does, it toys the idea_   
_Like you trace the page with pencil._   
_The page wants a picture. And you want_   
_The gracious tug of friction._

_I could do it for you,_   
_Right here in this field._   
_I could give you everything you want._   
_Delirium under the open sky._

_The birds and the bees_   
_Have nothing on this._   
_The bite from the air,_   
_We can both take it and chew._

_Let me help you,_   
_Please you for all that is pure._   
_Adorn you until you aren’t._   
_Adore you ma chérie précieuse._

_You’ve waited for so long,_   
_Does it hurt?_   
_I could make you feel good,_   
_Unfathomably in my arms._

_I can play_   
_Toutefois vous plaît?_

Venture closer, deeper motion,  
I watch her writhe what is reeled.  
She drifts slowly into unreason  
As I dirty talk her in the field.


	4. Sensory Tarp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Features rope bondage and some implication of marking.

Pulled to a weave and twine  
In rope, crunching its fibres at every twitch.  
Held in suspension,  
Hands bound above her head.  
Slinking down to the kiss of gravity  
Is her dappled body, breathing  
Breasts and downy hairs that  
Glitter, like christmas lights, sloshing  
In the froth of  
A moonlit sea.

I slip my hand between my legs and  
Dip out a clear paint.   
It dangles from the gaps of my fingers   
With intentions to  
Gloss a saint.   
Contemplative I glance to her, sight locks,  
Cocks, considers.  
A canvas of tight skin backways bent  
Beckons me to touch.  
Sensory tarp,  
Trembling in its heart,  
May I clutch the dress-length?  
Nervous in noiseless twilight,  
She answers with a falter in her arc,  
Begging me to trail   
My mark.


	5. Dipper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some euphemisms I suppose...

Slipstream through noises and  
Dart into a cloud of bubbles.  
The soap swarms the eyes of  
Innocent.

Cleanse the insides until the  
Ends of your dignity  
Resonate.

Drink the acidic sensation of  
The so-called apex that life adores to  
Offer.

Dunk your head in the holy water and  
Wash you mind of reality.


	6. Frozen Dander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A poem that goes from nightfall nihilism to 100 in like a stanza.

I'll tell you what  
In the dark  
Under a disappointing sky of stars.  
Every twinkle that you see  
Harbours dead, empty worlds.  
And those that are not,  
Testing biology as a concept, will  
Soon discover how pointless  
It is as an endeavour.

Yet  
Who am I to care?  
I'm just a speck of life.  
I'll be gone soon, like the rest,  
Smoked away by my beautiful sun.  
For now I breathe, I see,  
I detect.  
I'm aware of where I dwell  
And I like what I see.

Dotting the dark streets with footsteps  
With no clue where we're going  
I see you shiver.  
The bite from the air  
Is a frozen lake,  
To wade through the cuts of ice  
Is no less than a drunken dare.   
Trees grow on the skirting board of the  
Charcoaled sky,  
Streetlights stand arrogant for their cause  
Like the next social justice carnality.  
I hold your hand.

Every breath we butcher in this shaking  
Cold is cloudy.  
Your coat, pressed tight around your  
Body is glimmering.  
Sparkling buttons I can imagine undoing  
When we reach the house.  
There is much I can imagine undoing,  
Undressing, uncurling.  
Plenty I can call wrongdoings,   
Sordid sweeps of hands that hold you  
Against the wall.  
Warming closer I would  
Beg our skin to touch,  
A sweet contact to counter   
The bitter chill of the world  
Tonight.


	7. I Can Be Flowery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Features flowery language and bondage, also a shameless reference to another of my poems and a fable for some reason.

On the bounds of metallic bedding letting me  
Stretch my limbs in sweet draw.  
Tale of a meadow on her lips is  
Fighting my content in the shackles I don.   
Every word touches novelty  
And feels like paradise.  
I can feel myself lifting from my   
Tether to the ground.  
She rests two fingers on my throat,  
It's her domain.

My dear, do tell me the story of  
The tortoise and the hare.  
Inform me of how the  
Slow and steady  
Is bound to win the race.  
Enlighten me as your hands begin their  
Slow and steady  
Investigation   
Of the pretty, pretty flowerbed of my aching skin.  
Trace the petals,  
Hold them up,  
Sing a melody with your fingertips.  
Pluck the stems,  
Toy with them,  
Dig up the soul like a dog.

Do whatever you please to me.  
My being is yours to keep.  
For if I'm prepared to describe it   
In this language classically flowery,  
Then I am prepared to worship,  
Screaming your name  
On my knees.


	8. Making a Chandelier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why did this poem get so many hits when it was an individual work..? Why..?
> 
> Features yet more bondage with some forniphilia/human furniture aspects.

Here's a clean desire,  
Polished with a ploy.  
A cup of warm tea rests between my thighs  
And it soothes the boredom.  
It tortures the cauldron. 

There I see it.  
A chandelier chained to beams,  
Held still.  
Swaying in no timeline.   
At rest, I could twine basketweave through its limbs,  
I could have you.   
Roped, wired, leathered,  
All to meet the curvaceous sculpt of   
Grooved wood and tense chain.   
I could touch the way you would entwine,  
Skin soft, all silk ribbon.

To each counterpoint of pulling I could  
Tie a bow.  
To every surface I could trace petals,  
Cover with flowers.  
I could make you pretty   
For the ceiling. 

Time would swirl like marbles,  
Slow, lack of deliberation.   
I could move in tandem,  
There is no rush.  
With every clock tick,  
Every bubbling heartbeat,  
I could let you hang chained to beams,  
Held still.  
Swaying in only the timeline  
Where these words are spoken.  
Hands upon you and devouring your every majesty,  
Admiring every bow,  
Shifting every flower.

You would be alive,  
With the sensations lapping in liquids and  
Building up within.  
You would be alit,  
As warm as my unsettling tea with  
Filament glowing inside.

With one bold move,  
I could let there be light. 

My dearest chandelier


	9. Phyiscal Beast - Full Version

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full version of a poem I used as a chapter induction in my story: Terabitten Mute. 
> 
> This is NOT a sexy poem, it just has suggestive language. This thing has gore and implied rape/assault going on. Also disease imagery. It's nasty business.

I come  
For your body,  
I want to leach the skin of your blood.  
Crawling out of a ruptured breath,  
I find you.  
So, to follow my instinctual memorandum,   
I approach.

There is precision struck into my fingertips,  
Power darned deeply into the flesh of my deltoids.  
Oh you would never want to   
Face the existence  
Of me.  
  
May I have no mind.  
May it pretend itself possessing the absorbance  
Of a stone.  
I let it do that.  
Why would I fucking care?  
Teeth as sharp as coddled knives I can   
Rip your viscera of all its nutritional splendor.  
I can rip you raw.

For fun.

I don’t have fingernails, but I could still  
Bury something into that soft billow  
Of your body.  
I could bend its rules,  
Actually, I could break them.  
Twisting your little soldiers in ways nothing typically would,  
I could make them work for me.  
There is nothing you can do.

With great pleasure, I could take the   
Backbone of your organs and  
Toy with them the same way  
A surgeon would fight not to.   
I could take the matter into my hands,  
Trailing saliva across its skin.  
I would watch it drip on the floor.  
Laugh as it spreads across the grizzly ground and   
Seeps into gutters leading to  
Throats unbeknownst.  
My dearest child branches out to the wondrous lands of  
Glorious potential.  
A place where the wolves lay flat to the ground and  
The dogs howl.

Under a careful supervision,  
I would let it travel far  
Across the acoustics of the meadows,  
Send it clamouring like a parade down the streets.   
A beautiful song of   
Death  
Upon its lips.

My voice need not be so pretty,  
Growling hard into the bloody carcass I  
Intend to make of you,  
Pus oozes from my naked teeth like disease.  
I am septic.

Like a fly,  
I watch you rot at the mercy of my bodily fluids.  
Bones revealed before my eyes, I will  
Call you a work of art.  
No matter how much you scream for that  
Person you love,  
They will never hear.  
And, my dear, the hopelessness trembling in your veins  
Is what I would  
Call a masterpiece.  
Your sorrow  
Is my craft.

I do it because   
When I look out the window of my  
Dimmed bedroom,  
I see the world.  
Trees, hills, endless opportunity to step foot.  
And the curious little terrier within  
Wants to walk such ways.  
It gnaws upon me,  
It hurts me,  
Bringing me to fear the four walls I  
Lock myself behind.  
It wants to see the forest,  
Demands to piss on the trees,  
Sometimes, it looks at the way the grass sways  
And wants to clench it in its mouth.  
It’s bored,  
It just wants to have fun.

One day it will break free,  
I know it will.  
But if I die before that day,  
I will do far more than just die.  
Shuddering,  
I clutch hold of my craft a little tighter.

Desperate, I mother it and venture outside,  
Covering myself in the hissing rain.  
Generously licking my lips I  
Stare up the skirt of the clouds.  
As it patters its drunken taps of  
Violation upon my face.  
I think.  
I see.  
And almost like it was really there,  
I can feel the collar around my neck.  
The thought of being the animal of another,  
Slides sensuously into my brain.

Why, I could be a weapon.  
Poised like a snake, forever prepared to strike.  
I could relish the tension that might grow  
Taut in my blood.  
My constricted desire to kill could  
Come out to play.

With great pleasure, I would hunt down the flagged,  
Chop up the persona.  
Licking wounds with my mouth I would   
Dismantle the very sense of being from  
Anything.  
With every breath I’d chew until  
There’s nothing left.

The thought makes me high.

Dexterity would hurt when it comes from me,  
Because I like to force.  
With sinew painted golden I would behold  
My power to my master.  
Cobblestone made of a predator’s dream,  
It smells of the fresh dead.  
The red carpet I would lay out might be coloured so  
For a reason nobody would like to know.

Master in front, I would amble behind,  
Chained, collared, led.   
Trotting a subservient tenacity across the streets,  
I would be so unfathomably   
Happy.

I beg them, I want this master to take me,  
Make me their own.  
I want to belong.  
They could spare me a life of missed opportunity.  
They could feed my dog.  
Never let it get bored again.  
Breathless,  
All I can whisper is  
_Please?_

I can be the bringer of infectious destruction,  
Please tell me what to do.


	10. Excerpt from Relentlessly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The somewhat decent part of a fairly crass poem I wrote ages back.

Caress the ends of my self-control and  
God forbid make me beg.  
I can’t care for how much it stings when  
It reeks pleasure with every beat of my  
Heart. Make it beat faster please  
I need this.

Better still, lay hands upon me,  
Let your fingers wander over my  
Bristling hairs.  
Hands tracing over warm gold,  
Make me the soul you want to hold  
Because I am your  
Plaything.

Toy me like the pens you bring to your mouth  
To chew.  
Let my body fall between the fumble   
Of your fingers and   
Fixation of your teeth.  
Draw me out like one of your french words,   
Shaky, badly spoken.


	11. Against the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirty talk, would make a good line for seduction.

I want you to hold me at the space  
Between the Earth and the Moon.  
Your hands upon me from midnight  
‘Til the gleaming afternoon.

I want to be your prize,  
Your trophy, your doll.  
So darling make me yours  
And make me come against the wall.


	12. Painting by Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically this is how I ruined a paintbrush and the whole concept of painting in one easy step: I wrote a poem.
> 
> Features kinky business with a paintbrush and sexual frustration.

A paintbrush,  
But a tool of ever-changing shapes upon a  
Crisply marked page.

Numbers,  
But a measure of pigment that  
Dangles from the pointed tip.

Sodden pink, clayed greens,  
Greys of every whittled shade.  
Mark, spread, splay.  
Clad the page with colour.  
With every hair of the brush is a trickle of  
The sweetest salve,  
Etched around the blueprints in  
Little jigsaw pieces.  
What a darling pastime  
To paint by numbers.

Watch with every trace, every twirl the fine hairs  
Caress the paper.  
They smooth the surface and   
Seep pleasantries into the pores.  
They make it light up with vibrancy,  
They make it beautiful.

To a similar calibre is the soothing stroke  
Inside the stomach.  
The one that takes the strength from your legs and   
Virtue from your soul.  
It rakes its talons inside you while  
You patter teases on the paper.  
Upon the picture your eyes lay smitten,  
For every brushstroke resonates deep inside.  
Minutes, nearly an hour goes by,  
And you tease yourself.

Now, the hand clasping the paintbrush clings  
Like it’s religion and  
You won’t let go.  
The brush dips in swirls, slips and splits,  
Hairs press an expanding universe as you grow impatient.  
This painting is taking so long,  
And every input is intoxicating.  
The page wants a picture,  
And you want the gracious tug of friction.

With every passing second,  
You feel each trace of the tapering tip  
As it trails gentle, curling patterns all over the page  
And all over your self-control.  
It’s wearing you down.  
Seated at the table is torture and  
Nothing is comfortable anymore.  
It’s warm, hot,   
Unbearable.

Yet still, you continue to paint.  
The picture slowly, surely, is becoming of itself,  
And it looks magnificent.  
Every elaborate fragment of colour is  
Unifying the patchwork and all  
Is becoming clear.  
However half-closed the eyes are  
In their gaze of the work before them,  
However heavy the insides are   
In their constant crave for more,  
Seeing the picture in the flesh  
Makes this sweet torture worthwhile.  
But this isn’t the only motive.  
Oh no.

You continue to paint,  
Because you like the way it feels


	13. You Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self-explanatory. Features chastity and sexual frustration.

You tease me, dear love,  
With your corporal command.  
To keep my hands off my body  
Until I can barely stand.

It's cruel, you know,   
Depriving me this way.  
My fingers keep curling, like beckoning bait,  
So I'm trying to write the feeling away.

But it's not working, it's not,  
I'm still trembling at the tease.  
The fact I just can't sit still is  
Making me feel like a sleaze.

Oh darling, it's wonderful,  
And sometimes I clench myself tight.  
I want to let this torturous feeling  
Trek me all through the night. 

Until perhaps, there's nothing left  
Of my control and dignity.  
When I'm constantly squirming, sodden  
And begging for your common decency. 

I can already feel it,  
With every wail my body endures.  
I beg of you to touch me and  
Tell me that I'm yours.

You tease me, dear love,  
But oh please,  
Never make it stop.


	14. Tapestry and Staple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These two poems are closely related. I wrote Tapestry a couple of years ago and then followed it up recently with its suggestive counterpart: Staple
> 
> TW for gore, particularly with needles.

**Tapestry**

There is a tapestry on my skin.  
It is there for  
Those to read.  
Stitch and snatch of thread  
Swimming through my hide.  
A worm that burrows in dirt has  
Less grace than the conquest  
Of this thread.

**Staple**

I’ll staple you to the counterpoints  
Of delicacy.  
Pain sharp and deep  
Underneath your skin,  
My piercing sinks.  
Blood spills out the sides, dark,  
Staining my fingertips.

There is tapestry to be woven upon your skin,  
It need be there for   
Me to seed.  
Press and rip of needle  
Boring through your hide.  
Your cries upon the walls have  
Less taste than the blood   
I lick off your skin.

One with my tongue,  
My ravenous throat,   
My insides,  
It is mine.

_Ta sang est ma sang,_   
_Je le prends de toi._


End file.
